


Made Anew

by John_lzhc



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Community: eleventy_kink, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:38:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_lzhc/pseuds/John_lzhc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly regenerated, a woman who's not quite sure who she is yet takes a moment to get to grips, so to speak, with the new body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made Anew

**Author's Note:**

> I initially tried to fill this when it was prompted months ago, but the muses decided that it wasn't to be a the fic gathered dust on my harddrive. Then last week the muses waited until I was trying to fall asleep and _pounced_ , and the first third of this was written on my phone at midnight when I should have been sleeping. Clearly, I am their bitch.
> 
> Many thanks to [spike_1790](http://spike-1790.livejournal.com/) who beta'ed.

The first act of this strange, new body is murder.

She gives the Doctor the kiss of death, then she's off into Berlin, and it's all Nazis and guns and oh, the clothes. Love the clothes. Not so keen on the justice robots though. And the Doctor's back looking sharper than ever, but he's still dying, she's still killed him.

The TARDIS _sings_ to her...

She saves the Doctor's life.

She's always been told then when she's killed the doctor she can do whatever she wants; she's already killed him, and she _wants_ to do this, even when he tells her not to. _Especially_ when he tells her not to. Melody Pond has been a tool and a weapon and a good little soldier, maybe River Song will be the type to do as she likes. She hopes so.

She kisses him again, the kiss of life, kiss of light, and everything goes dar-

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
It's a funny feeling when she wakes up. A little like waking up not sure where you are or what day it is, but deeper. Bone deep. Cell deep. She knows this body as little as she knows River Song, all new and unspoilt and full of potential. She'll have to learn them both, the lines and the limits, the quirks and rough edges. Have to grow into them.

The Doctor gives her a book, and tells her she'll be fantastic, then they leave. Give her time to grow. The nurses scurry away, give her time to sleep. She does.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
She still feels odd when she wakes up. It's not quite the disconnect of yesterday, though she's still not quite aligned yet. More a hot buzzy feeling low down in her belly. She shifts, and her thighs brush together, and...

Huh.

She's only had one body push through to adulthood before, so it never occurred to her that arousal would feel different after regeneration. She squeezes her thighs experimentally, and breathes in sharply at thrill it elicits.

Well now, this is going to be interesting.

She lifts her head up just enough to check the that door's still closed, windows still frosted, looks to make sure there's no unobtrusive heart monitor that might go mad while she's excited. Much as she loves the idea of a sexy cat nurse, she'd rather get to grips with the new landscape before inviting them to the party.

Speaking of the landscape...

She starts by sliding her hands over the starches hospital sheets to her chest, cupping her breasts, squeezing, moulding, rolling them in her palms. Not bad, not bad at all. They're firm, perky even, yet smooth and malleable, slightly larger than a handful; but then she thinks maybe she has small hands. Best get measured ASAP, bra and glove sizes both.

She sneaks a glance under the papery shift she woke up in: smooth skin with a dusting of freckles, areolae slightly larger than she'd expected (maybe that cones with the mature look, she thinks). Nipples... she ghosts her fingertips over them, trying to excite a reaction. It feels good, not as spectacular as she remembers, but good. They pebble up, swelling at the touch, large to match the areolae. She licks her right thumb and brushes it over a nipple, then she blows, gently. The jolt runs right down her spine to the buzzy feeling sneaking down between her legs, so she does it with the other. That is _definitely_ something to bear in mind. She wonders vaguely where she can get ice-cubes from. Maybe the nurses will give her some if she asks nicely enough.

With her chest figured out (at least for now), she moves a hand upwards to stroke her neck. It's... interesting, but that's about it. Good skin, she thinks. She examines her mouth next, running her fingers over her lower lip, upper lip. She nips at the tips, licks them experimentally, then she sucks her index figure slowly, stroking her tongue inside her mouth. It's nice, so she tries it with two. Three is a little impractical.

The mouth yields no more surprises (except for the teeth, which will take a while to get used to), so she turns her attention down again.

Good figure, she thinks. Obviously all that concentration paid off. Have to take good care of it. Hips... generous, in a good way. She thinks the word 'curvaceous' may apply, but it can't hurt to find a second opinion in the near future. Several second opinions. She doesn't have the energy yet to arch her body up to get to grips, so to speak, with her bottom, but she remembers nothing but good things about it. It can be an incentive to get better soon.

Smiling, she splays her hands and rubs them against her upper thighs, shivering as her thumbs stroke down between her legs and send tingles to her belly. They're quite lean, but there's good muscle there. She feels like she might be a good runner this time. (Her most acclaimed sporting activity in Leadworth had been climbing through windows. She'd been good at it though).

The hospital shift she's in goes down to her knees, so she bunches it up slowly with her hands and pushes it up to her waist. The brush of fabric on her legs feels erotic, sneaky. It's unlikely the door's locked, and there must be something to monitor her, rubbing one out without being noticed will be tricky... but probably not undoable. She's surprised to find she doesn't care. Is she lucky to have landed an exhibitionist regeneration? Or does a regeneration conform to it's early environment? She sneaks her fingers under the waistband of her hospital-issue knickers and stops caring.

She's putting out just as much heat as she remembers, but the hair is different. Smother, longer; she makes a mental note to find a razor. The fire coiling inside her flairs up to the touch, she can't work out if it feels like touching herself, touching someone else, or someone else touching her. Maybe it feels like all three together, and it's three times as hot as that, three times as arousing. Little tremors zip up and down the muscles of he legs as her fingers delve in deeper between her legs. She finds her clitoris, brushing it by accident as she maps out a new topography, and _oh_ , oh god, that's good. She does it again, arching her spine as arousal smoulder low in her belly, feeling the fabric of her gown drag over her nipples as she gasps. She stays there, rubbing little circles until she's breathless and her back sticks to the sheets.

Her thighs feel wet, and when she skims her fingers down to explore her labia they're wet too, soaking with her own lubrication. She's sure she never got this wet before. Her fingertips slip as she traces out fold of her lips, learning the shape, seeking her way blind, a few fading shreds of her still trying to think analytically through the cloud of fire and _want_ in her head. Reaching lower, her fingers find the slit of her vagina, all new and virginal (and how does that work? She wonders. Does she get to loose it again?). She pushes, testing. The first finger slips in easily for about an inch, glorious and wonderful and then _OW, ow_. Ok, technicalities aside, it looks like that's something she's going to have to ease back into. Damn. Still, she thinks, as she circles her entrance with her fingers, skirting close but never with quite enough pressure to penetrate, other than that all early indications are good.

One hand flutters back up to her breasts to squeeze and caress, the other staying put between her legs to stroke her vulva. Long lines at first, firm, perineum to clitoris, pausing to tease her engorged labia. Her breath comes faster, sweat beading her skin, sticking her hair to her forehead. She focuses her fingers on her clitoris, rubbing around it, over it, squeezing and flicking. She feels her chest heave under her left hand, nipples so hard they almost hurt, breasts sensitive all over and oh, oh, nearly there, nearly-

She chokes back a cry as her arousal crescendos, her orgasm sweeping like a wave, legs trembling, muscles clenching, head thrown back as she works her vulva with stuttering fingers.

And then as quick as the climax had hit, it's over, draining away, leaving her too sensitive for comfort and she pulls her hand back sharply. She's wrung out and _done_ , she can feel her blood pounding in her veins, her arteries. This strange new heart beating out a familiar rhythm of sated satisfaction.

Time trickles back slowly, as does the strength to move. When she thinks she could pass for just woken up, fingers wiped as clean as she can on her knickers, gown pulled as far down as she can, she eyes the call button on the bedside table. Time to see what the universe has in store for River Song.


End file.
